


Invictus

by attacc_on_my_feels



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Disjointed, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Occasional Long Chapters, Pain, Really Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Will take requests - Freeform, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attacc_on_my_feels/pseuds/attacc_on_my_feels
Summary: They are unconquerable.





	1. Out of the Night that Covers Me

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you like this!

**_Year 847. 5_** **_:32 PM. Underground District._ **

 

It's so dark down here. How many times has she dreamt of venturing out into the world, seeing the surface, seeing the sun? The sun. She'd heard of it. Heard it's warm and bright and gives life to everything it shines down on. Not like down here in the darkness, where deceit and theft runs rampant like a virus, infecting everyone it touches. She knows she should be less curious about what's up there and more curious on what in the hell she'll get to eat tonight. _If_ she'll get to eat. She's got no money, nothing on her to pay for even a loaf of bread that she knows won't be enough to satisfy her either way.

And it's not like she'll get it all to herself anyway, even if she could afford it. She's gotta half it, maybe even give it all away, has to make sure the little one gets fed before she does. She's only twelve, but she's already been forced into the role of mother rather than the older sister she should be.  _Mother..._ She shakes her head, doesn't want to think about that time. She doesn't want to  _remember._

A half hour later and she's managed to snag a loaf of bread and sneak away before the elderly merchant even knows what's happened, body slipping back into the shadows as she makes a break for the little corner she and her sister have claimed that's not too far from here. She tucks their dinner into the pocket of the thin, tattered cardigan that swallows her frame, poor excuses for shoes slapping against dirt as she bolts for 'home'.

She skids to a stop when she spies the little mess of blankets that serves as their bed. Immediately, she can tell, something's wrong.  _She's not here, she should be here. Where is she?_ And then she's frantic, head ducking around the corner and then turning to search the blankets because maybe she missed something, maybe she's there, body a little lump beneath the covers. But there's nothing, and her heart leaps up into her throat as she hears a cry, and then she's running.

_It's her, I know it's her._

She's picking up speed because she hears the cry again, and she just  _knows_ it's her. She tries and fails to avoid the couple of empty crates settled in the alleyway as she turns the corner, wood scraping against the bare skin of her leg, but she doesn't notice the sting or the bit of blood that starts to stream down the side of her calf, can't think about it because  _she's close and she's in trouble._

By the time she catches sight of them, sees her little sister's arm caught in the grip of one of  _them,_ she's already yelling. She's seen them before- seen  _him_ before, soldiers who bear that  _stupid green horse on their jackets who think their God's gift to the world and walk all over people, write them off like they're the mud on their privileged boots, the damn-_

"Stop it, let her go, she's just a little kid-!"

"Oi! Shut your mouth, you damn kid! Get over here!"

"Leave her alone, she's not-"

A punch, a shove, a gunshot.

Silence.

 

 


	2. Black as the Pit from Pole to Pole

_**Year 842. 1:29 AM. Wall Sina. King Household.** _

This isn’t how it should be going down. She’s not ready, she’s only sixteen, she’s only just _met_ the man, but the way they look down on her, like she’s unworthy of their time and efforts let alone their _love_ , cuts her down to her very soul. They’ve always looked at her that way, like she’s not a daughter but a _disappointment_ , and she can’t stand it. Aren’t families supposed to love one another? Take care of one another, support each other?

She’s been raised to be a lady, to be feminine and delicate and _sweet_. But she can’t stand the bows in her hair and the corsets pulled taught around her waist. She wants to run and jump and fly and _fight, she wants to be free._

But she can’t, because what honor can she bring her family that way? No, she’s meant to be married, pawned off to some other wealthy merchant and bear his children, continue the line just like her mother had, and her mother before her. Not like her brother, who’s free to do as he pleases because he’s _brilliant and a leader and nothing short of perfect-_

She can feel the single tear that rolls lazily down her cheek, leaving a slow wet trail against her skin in its wake as she lies awake in her bed, gaze glazed over and fixated on the ceiling as her hands rest crossed against her torso. No, she’s the youngest and the troubled child, _the failure_. She’s not meant to be anything more than a pest they can exterminate, a liability they can take care of with enough money, a few legal papers and a marriage license.

It’s then that a thought strikes her and she sits straight up, back rigid and tense as a wild idea begins to take form within the depths of her worried mind, and she risks one glance at the door before she’s up and out of bed, stripping herself of her nightclothes and throwing on a dress, a cloak and some shoes, and then she’s opening her window as carefully as she can to climb out over the balcony and ease her way down to the ground. She’s made a decision, and she’s going to run, going to find her own purpose and do something great and _live her own life_.

She’s going to live her life for _herself and no one else._


	3. I Thank Whatever Gods May Be

_**Year 848. 8:50 AM. 104th Cadet Corps.** _

The only reason she’s here is so she can be with him, fight alongside him and make sure he stays alive because they’re going to see the world together when it’s all over and the world is _safe_ for them. And maybe it’s selfish of her, but she can’t even begin to convince herself that there’s another reason, some ulterior motive akin to something like _‘helping humanity fight back’_. Sure, she cares about the bigger picture and she wants to help, to win. _Of course_ she does. But when all is said and done, she's here for him. Yes, maybe it’s selfish. But she’s doing it anyway because he’s smart and sweet and kind and _good_ and he deserves nothing less than _making it out of this alive._

It’s not as though she has any other reason to be here. She liked her quiet life behind the walls, safe in a cozy little home protected by Wall Rose. She’s thankful, caring for her aging father and her twin sisters that are only roughly a year younger than herself. Her family’s never known disease or immense hunger and she’s never before felt a yearning for anything more. Not until now, at least. Not until _him_.

She’s only known him a year, but from the beginning she’s been so _attached_ to him, with those kind eyes that she could stare into for days because _damn, he’s got the whole sky shining in those gorgeous blue eyes-_

And that’s when she thinks of his smile, warm and inviting and _caring_ as he’d helped her up that first day, so friendly and gentle it was _unreal_ , and she remembers when he’d trusted her in telling her about that compromising book of his that spoke of a world unseen, with bodies of water called the _ocean_ so vast you couldn’t _begin_ to see where it ends, and other places with water of _fire_ and _so many other wonders it was hard to-_

Since that day, she’s followed him, he who put this _dream_ into her head, that they one day might be able to see these incredible, magnificent phenomena without fear, might be able to venture out into the world and just be able to _breathe_. So she’s here, breathing in crisp and clean morning air as she leans against the wooden railing along the porch of the girls' quarters. Here for that intelligent, warm, gentle, absolutely _wonderful_ blue-eyed dreamer, ever hoping and praying for that day, _that day_ , that this time of pain and suffering ends for good. She’s hoping and praying for the day that she’ll have even more to be thankful for.

Even if she has to fight like hell to get to it.


	4. For My Unconquerable Soul

_**Year 847. 7:07 PM. 104th Cadet Corps.** _

They’ve taken everything from him. His home, his family, his safety. They’ve ripped it all away from him, crashed straight into his life and forced him to watch his mother die as he’s helplessly carried away, _so much further away from her_. It isn’t as though he hadn’t tried to save her. He had. But that _cowardly, sad excuse of a man_ had forced him away. He had screamed, throat burning and voice scratchy and torn as he’d cried out for them to _stop- stop!_

He’d made a vow that day. He’d _kill_ them. He’d take them all out, wipe out their very _existence_. Teeth bared and knuckles white and trembling and tears hot against his skin, he’d _sworn_.

_They will fall._

And now, as he sits in the mess hall, makeshift family at his sides, he’s not at peace. He still wants to- no, _needs_ to fight, to drag his blade through beastly flesh and feel steam fighting the wind against his face as he moves on to the next, and the next, _and the next_. Even now as his comrades laugh and speak of terrors they’ve never seen, spout off careless remarks when they’ve never seen the horrifying faces and never watched their families and friends and neighbors die right before them, _never felt the agonizing pain of loss and never screamed for them to stop, stop, STOP-_

It’s then that a hand claps against his back and he jerks, gaze flying up to meet that of the horse-faced jerk, the idiotic piece of _crap_ whose only goal is to make himself a nice cushy life in the interior and never lay eyes on one of those monsters. The moron’s grin is crooked, lopsided with one side of his mouth tugged upward as he juts his chin out and eyes the girl to his right proudly.

“Isn’t that right, Eren?”

_God, Jean just **pisses him off-**_

“We’ll have you to thank for taking out the Titans, right?” He turns to face the others, hands held up in something akin to a surrender or a shrug. “Eren will save us all!”

“Oi, shut your mouth, damn you-!” He’s gritting his teeth and the blond seated to his left moves to soothe him, but he’s having none of it as he jostles the table when he stands.

“Damn it all, why can’t you just leave it be?!”

“Come on, Jaeger, I’m not hurting anything. Isn’t that what you blab about all the time? Think you’re gonna take out all the Titans?”

“And what are you going to do? Contribute to the fight by sitting on your ass?”

“Eren.”

That’s her speaking now, his adopted sister who stays close to his side, not for protection, but instead to look out for _him_. Silent and absolutely deadly, expression generally stoic unless he’s encountered something she considers a threat, she shadows him, the scarf he’d given her years ago when they were but children forever wrapped around her neck. He looks at her now, frustration twisting his features even as indifference leaves her own smooth. He waits for her to continue, but she says nothing more.

“E-Eren.”

And that’s the other, his friend- his _brother_ , meek and thin but brilliant and tactful, a kind soul who’s loyal as ever to him and his sister. He remembers those days so very clearly, when they were kids and he would often happen upon the local bullies cornering a small, quivering blond, and he remembers his anger, his utter disgust at the sight of such injustice. _Who the hell did they think they were, going around treating him- treating anyone like that?_ He’d make to run them off every time, though more often than not they’d run at the sight of his dangerous, scarfed shadow.

He risks a glance down to his left, frustration giving way to something like a mix of guilt and embarrassment as he eases back down into his seat, letting out a slow exhale as his hands rest clenched against his knees.

“Sorry, Armin.. Mikasa. It’s just..” He trails off as he takes note that Horse-face has moved on, arm tossed around the shoulders of his freckled buddy as he laughs obnoxiously at some unheard remark. “He just pisses me off so much.”

“You shouldn’t listen to him,” Armin murmurs out. “He only does that because he knows he’ll get a rise out of you.”

And he can only sigh out in response, shoulders nearly deflating as he suddenly just feels exhausted. For as long as he’s been here, he’s had to justify his goals, his reasoning. Every day he’s angered, pushed to the edge by that _moron_ or some other skeptic, and he’s _tired_. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in his cause or that he won’t fight like _hell_ for what he wants. Even so, there are some nights that he lies awake in his bunk, energy drained and heart heavy, gaze blurry and fixated on the ceiling despite not being able to see a damn thing in the darkness as tears track down his cheeks. He brings the back of a hand to his mouth as silent sobs wrack his body, hoping his cries won’t awaken his sleeping companions.

Despite all this, he’s a fighter. His whole life, he’s been _fighting_ , and he’s sure as hell not gonna stop now or anytime soon. Few have real faith in him, but he won’t stop. He won’t fail. _He won’t **die**_ **.** Despite every sleepless night and jab at his pride, he’ll fight. He’ll go out there and he’ll avenge the fallen and _save the rest_.

_They will fall._


End file.
